


Perfect John Watson

by TheZeroMoment



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Punklock, Teenlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-10
Updated: 2014-04-10
Packaged: 2018-01-18 22:13:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1444729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheZeroMoment/pseuds/TheZeroMoment
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock remembers the first time John kissed him. They were around the back of the club, where they have benches for the smokers, it was silent, apart from the faint music in the background. It sounded more like white noise than anything else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfect John Watson

**Author's Note:**

> Everything belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and the BBC apart from the order of the words.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr under the same username.

Perfect John Watson, sitting across the canteen at a table packed with muscled guys with their ties loose and white shirts stretching over their arms and chests, toned from rugby, and skinny girls with gaps in their thighs with skirts short, the majority of them were on the cheerleading team. All of them were perfect. It annoyed Sherlock immensely.

At school, he wasn’t the John Sherlock knew, not at all. The John at school was well known, well liked, he was common. He dated a pretty blonde girl who was cheerleading captain, as far as Sherlock knew. He always presumed John Watson, with his ruffled short hair, the colour of honey just messy enough to be cute, sparkling blue eyes as he laughed at the jokes of his fellows from the football team, would be so utterly common he wasn’t worth the time of day. God, was he wrong.

~*~

It started properly, he presumed, when John saved him from Drake Lincon, the school’s infamous pervert, bully, and drug addict, when he had... come on to him in the courtyard near the rugby pitches.

This was when Sherlock was still waning himself off cocaine, his addiction being something Mycroft was keeping tabs on, when he was thrown against the cement wall of the school and snogged forcibly. He had tasted the powder on his gums and it had almost driven him crazy, when John rounded the corner, shoved Lincon off of him, and asked, rather calmly, what exactly was going on. He had seen Sherlock struggle, he had seen him vulnerable, that occasion was only one of many. 

The one to start it all off. 

Lincon had run off upon seeing the school’s rugby captain. Sherlock, on the cold slate flooring from being knocked over, had then spat on the ground, sickened by the sweet taste of the drug on his lips, and scathingly deduced everything about John Watson, Perfect Boy; his abusive father, who left when he was young, his drunk of a mother and his little sister who John had sworn to protect. John had shaken his head slightly, his face then splitting into a wide smile, and calling Sherlock brilliant. His smile was fascinating, it lit up John’s whole being, his ears twitched and his eyes crinkled at the corners. 

‘Really?’ Sherlock had asked, still unsure of the boy with the golden hair.

‘Yup,’ John had replied almost instantly, ‘that’s fucking fantastic, seriously. How?’

‘I just see it, it’s everywhere, the scar on your ear from a broken beer bottle, the way you hold yourself, how you stand, the way you reacted to seeing someone victimised...’

John had smiled at him and called him fantastic. His friends had then walked past and called out to him. He had said that they would talk later. He promised.

~*~

The table at which John was sat was getting more crowded as a few others joined the group. There was always people flocking like sheep around that specific table and Sherlock didn’t get why. Sure, the people there were sporty and ‘cool’ and held all of the parties but he really didn’t see the desperation to be yet another one of them.

John’s girlfriend, be her Jane or Sally or Daisy, he could never remember her name, sat on his lap to make way for a few of her friends. Sherlock was sickened by the sight of someone else being all over his John Watson, but it hardly mattered. She never got to see him after dark, with his hair spiked with sweat, the flush from alcohol staining his cheeks pink. The thought made Sherlock smile to himself slightly.

~*~

The second time they had met was at a place Sherlock would have never imagined seeing Perfect John Watson,  
preppy sort through and through. 

The club actually reasonably empty for once, the steady drumbeat of some song shaking the speakers and the glasses on the bar. There was no live music tonight so that explained the lack of people. Sherlock was sat at the bar, back resting against the wood, facing the people dancing. He always liked this specific club, their music wasn’t the annoying techno crap that everywhere else played, but loud music, that tended to have multiple guitars in, set on drowning out his senses. John Watson, in ridiculously tight, black skinny jeans and a Guns n’ Roses band t-shirt emerged from the crowds of people. His blonde hair was dark with sweat and he was grinning, despite himself, Sherlock smiled slightly. He was always amused when he missed out something like this. John wandered over to him. 

‘Fancy seeing you here,’ He slid up on the barstool. After he ordered just a glass of water, he turned to Sherlock again. 

‘What are you doing here, John Watson?’ 

‘Why wouldn’t I be here? It’s fun to confuse you.’ 

Sherlock scowled and John laughed, head thrown back, his pretty smile lighting up his face again.

~*~

John was now getting up, he kissed his girlfriend on the cheek before waving goodbye to his friends and leaving the canteen. Sherlock smirked at his retreating back, he obviously wanted to be followed, and after a few minutes, Sherlock did.

~*~

Sherlock remembers the first time something like this happened, it was the end of the school day in the car park and the majority of people had already left. John came up to him first. 

‘Hey you,’ 

Sherlock had no idea how to respond.

‘Being like that are you? Hardly matters, I just think we should stop beating around the bush with all this. So hello Sherlock Holmes, wanna meet up later?

Sherlock still had no idea how to respond. But they did meet up. 

~*~

Sherlock walked normally, in no rush to meet John. He knew he would wait for him. It was sweet, before John, no one would have bothered to care to wait for Sherlock. It was sweet, despite being completely unnecessary.

Out around the back of the school, by the field was absolutely deserted, except for John who was leaning against the building, who smiled at him instantly. Sherlock didn’t hesitate to smile back now, like he did when they first did all of this. John kissed him on the lips quickly in greeting and took Sherlock’s hand. They wandered, chatting aimlessly, to the trees by the side of the field so they could sit pretty much without interruption.

~*~

Sherlock remembers the first time John kissed him. They were around the back of the club, where they have benches for the smokers, it was silent, apart from the faint music in the background. It sounded more like white noise than anything else. Sherlock let out a breath of smoke, and watched it float up into the dark night sky, when John took his face in his hands and kissed him on the lips. 

It was Sherlock’s first kiss.

He could taste his cigarette smoke, and the alcohol on John’s breath. He was a steady warmth, keeping Sherlock grounded with soft hands on his cheeks, while the sensations of John’s lips against his made him fly.  
When John pulled back, they returned to the silence, Sherlock took another drag of his cigarette.

~*~

‘Skip class with me.’

‘They’ll know.’

‘They can’t possibly. You give their observational skills too much credit.’

‘Okay then.’

~*~

Sherlock remembers the time when John’s mum found out about them. 

She panicked, lashed out, and John came to school with a cut on his cheek and a nasty purple bruise, no one in school knew where he had got it from, so naturally there was multiple ridiculous rumours. It was fun to hear about how Perfect John Watson got into a fight with a teacher about some homework. John acted completely normal, he went to rugby practice, he laughed with his friends, kissed his girlfriend. 

He didn’t talk to Sherlock for a week.

Sherlock had pulled him aside at the end of school after that week, sick and tired of waiting. He stroked his thumb along the crack in his skin gently, the cut was scabbing over now, and the bruise had gone an ugly greenish colour. 

Sherlock knew how this happened. He knew everything and Sherlock then swore to never let anything happen  
like this again. He wouldn’t let John suffer that again.

Later, at Sherlock’s house, he held him tightly as John sobbed into his chest. And after that, they put on loud music and got drunk together. It was easier to deal with things when he was drunk. John said. John then told Sherlock that if he ever hit him he would kill him, because he didn’t want to live like his dad. 

Sherlock held John again, and said he would, even though they both knew he would never follow through if the situation called for it.

~*~

They walked out around the back of the school, using a clever shortcut to get to the car park to get to Sherlock’s bike. They would ride away, going god knows where, content with being with each other. Sherlock loved it more than anything when they were not at school, when they weren’t surrounded by judgemental peers and teachers. Away from where John was lost. He liked having Real John Watson to himself, because he was all his, despite what Mycroft may say. He adored it when John clung onto him when they were on his bike. His fingers gripping on to his leather jacket, arms locked around his waist as they sped through the virtually empty streets.

~*~

No one at school ever got to see the leather trousers that clung to John’s toned legs or the face he made when the DJ decided to stick on an old Green Day song. None of them ever got to see the John Watson that Sherlock had corrupted either. How he looked, tan skin against the white bedsheets, gasping Sherlock’s name as he did wonderful things with his mouth. How their skin slid together, honey and milk, how warm John was, shuddering at Sherlock’s cold hands. 

When they kissed it was frantic and needy, John’s steady hands gripping Sherlock’s neck to keep him in place. Their tongues moved together, exploring foreign mouths. 

Sherlock was overcome with all the data and John’s touch and the simplicity of it all, the raw pleasure and satisfaction to know that Sherlock had caused John’s state of disarray. It was stunning. Sherlock would’ve told John he loved him then but he didn’t want to water it down by saying it straight after sex.

~*~

Sherlock drove them to the seaside, which was actually not that far away. He always seemed to remember John’s childish love for the sand and the sea. He had never seen the sea before Sherlock. 

Now they held hands and sat on the sand, listening to the seagulls and watching the tide wash back and forth, creating white horses in the sea foam. The cloudy sky made the entire situation so much more delicate.  
Sherlock pulled John into his lap so John buried his head under his chin. It was a comfort thing John did, Sherlock never questioned it.

‘You do know I love you right? That Suzie doesn’t mean anything.’

‘I know, John. I love you too.’ And god, was that the truth.


End file.
